


Coffee And Hot Pockets

by sisaat



Category: Leverage
Genre: April Fools' Day, Gen, Pranks and Practical Jokes, delicious food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10549974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisaat/pseuds/sisaat
Summary: Hardison thinks Eliot might not quite get the spirit of the holiday (late April Fools' Day fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty rushed since it was already days late when I decided to write it, but anyway.

Hardison was woken up by a very insistent bird. He tried to ignore it, but it kept screaming at the sun with all of the considerable strength of its tiny bird lung. He almost expected to find Parker on the other side of the window, making bird call, or even holding an actual bird, in some bizarre April Fools' Day joke—she had been looking forward to it since learning of the holiday last year once it was already over. But no, it was an actual bird. Hardison sighed. If he was gonna be awake at some ungodly hour—before noon—he needed coffee.

As it turned out, there was already coffee ready. Eliot was sitting at the table with a mug and a newspaper. The paper version, like the old man he was. 

"You're up early," he said without looking up.

"Bird. You're here early."

"Had to drop off some stuff."

"Did you see Parker?"

"She left with her gear not long ago. Something about wanting to prank the museum. It'll probably be on the news later."

"Right." He opened the freezer and took out one of his trusty Hot Pockets. "You had breakfast yet?"

The look on Eliot's face didn't disappoint.

"Yes and that's _not_  breakfast."

"Well, we can't all be a chef."

Hardison put the Hot Pocket on a plate, ignored Eliot's judgmental glower and placed it in the microwave before pulling the milk from the fridge and grabbing a mug. He filled it with almost as much milk as coffee—but only almost, so Eliot couldn't accurately call it "milk with coffee"—and brought it back to the table along with a spoon. He grabbed the pot of sugar from the center and dipped the spoon into it. Eliot looked up at the sound and his eyes widened. 

"Don't—"

"No, no, no, we're not doing that. I don't _care_  that you think sugar 'ruins the taste' and that coffee should be black and bitter, it's too early for this."

He dumped the sugar in his coffee. Eliot's expression could be best described as 'horrified'. Just to make his point, he maintained eye-contact while dumping several more spoonful of sugar into the mug. Or mostly into the mug. This was hard to do without looking. But it was entirely worth it to watch the developing twitch in Eliot's eye. The stare-off was somewhat ruined by the sound of the microwave beeping.

"Do we have a problem?" Hardison asked while stirring the sugar in.

Eliot's face went blank. "No. No problem."

"Good." Hardison didn't break eye-contact while raising the mug to his lips to take a sip. Which would have been a lot cooler if he hadn't immediately spat it out. "This is disgusting what is this."

"Salt. You couldn't tell?"

Hardison could have told him the exact chemical composition of both salt and sugar, but that didn't mean he could tell them apart at a glance. Probably had a very distinctive crystal structure or something. He would have told Eliot that, but he was busy trying to wash the taste off his tongue under the tap. He eventually just drank some milk straight from the carton.

"Must have been Parker. She's been looking up ideas online. It's a classic."

"It's a waste of coffee," Eliot muttered.

The microwave, upset at being ignored, beeped again. Hardison went over and stroked it soothingly. "I didn't forget you, I just had a little crisis to deal with. Come here. Oooh, this smells delicious."

It also didn't smell like his Hot Pokets usually smelled like. And now that it wasn't frozen, it also didn't look quite right. The shape was the same, but the texture was more... food-like. Hardison took a tentative bite. Yep. Just like he had suspected. It tasted as good as it smelled and it most certainly _wasn't_  his Hot Pocket. He might not have a refined palate, but Hardison could tell the difference between mass-produced—but still totally adequate—food and a lovingly homemade meal. Across the table, Eliot was pretending to ignore him, but a smile was fighting for a place on his lips. Hardison raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's your April Fools' Day prank? Making me a delicious breakfast?"

"N-no! Tricking you into not eating that crap," Eliot answered with a glare, a bit of a stutter and a lot of defensiveness.

"And where did you put my Hot Pockets?"

"In the garbage where they belonged."

"No you didn't." He wouldn't throw away food, Hardison knew that.

"Behind the box of corn dogs," Eliot muttered.

When they had first met, Hardison had thought Eliot was someone he shouldn't mess with. That impression had been ruined less than 24 hours later when he had pulled him back to his feet while running from an explosion a few minutes after Hardison threatened him with a gun. Now, Hardison leaned across the table and patted Eliot's cheek fondly.

"You're awful at being mean and I love that about you."

He took another bite of his delicious breakfast while Eliot tried to sputter an answer.


End file.
